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[theoresteia]

A  FLUSH  PAINTS  THE  TOPS  OF  HIS  CHEEKS,  an  almost  contradictory  look  on  him  —  imagine  him  an  angel,  half  innocent  and  half  tainted  with  lust.  his  eyes  are  unfocused,  drinking  her  in  under  the  dim  light.  his  lips  tilt  in  a  lopsided  manner  and  he  presses  himself  against  her,  core  to  core,  worrying  his  lower  lip  between  his  teeth  at  the  feel  of  her.  he's  hard  enough  to  hurt,  pressing  against  her  with  a  roll  of  his  hips.  charles'  hands  slide  up  to  her  hips,  manuvering  her  over  him  while  she  speaks.  he's  so  dazed,  completely  taken  by  the  movement  that  he  almost  forgets  to  listen  to  her  (  like  he's  asking  lilith  what  to  focus  on  —  the  sound  of  her  voice  or  the  temptation  of  her  body  ),  but  at  the  brush  of  her  fingers  against  the  skin  beneath  his  shirt,  he  lifts  his  eyes  from  the  rise  and  fall  of  her  breasts  to  her  eyes  (  so  fucking  cliché  —  her  eyes  are  up  there  !  ). “   and  then  what?   ”   he  teases  her  before  lifting  his  shirt  over  his  head  and  tossing  it  behind  him.  his  fingers  are  quick  to  reach  for  the  hem  of  her  dress,  pressing  it  between  his  fingertips  to  feel  the  fabric  —  like  he  might  be  able  to  rip  it  apart,  or  peel  it  off  of  her  in  one  fell  swoop.  what  color  underwear  is  she  wearing?  what  kind  of  bra?  his  hands  drift  upward  absent  mindedly,  abandoning  the  hem  to  reach  for  her  chest,  barely  grazing  over  them.   “   would  you  let  me  touch  you?   ”   he  pulls  at  the  neckline  gently,  exposing  her  skin  by  mere  centimeters.  tantalizing.  temptating.  his  tongue  pokes  out  to  wet  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  lifted  into  an  esculent  smirk.   “   would  you  let  me  touch  you  here?   ”   his  touch  ghosts  over  her  chest  again,  drifiting  downward.   “   down  here?   ”    he  leans  over  her  then,  pressing  his  chest  to  hers,  pushing  her  into  the  mattress.  charles  holds  himself  above  her  with  one  hand  while  the  other  reaches  between  them,  his  fingers  dancing  over  the  gusset  of  her  panties,  tracing  the  edges  of  it,  playing  with  the  heights  of  her  thighs.   “   or,  should  i  decide?   ”   he  asks  against  her  throat,  his  tongue  playing  with  the  column  of  it  before  he  starts  to  descend  her  body,  pressing  open - mouthed  kisses  against  her  skin.  it's  all  wet  and  sloppy,  tasting  the  space  where  her  neck  meets  her  shoulder,  then  her  sternum,  then  the  tops  of  her  breasts.  he  inhales  deeply  against  the  dress  while  snaking  down  to  her  legs,  pushing  them  apart  with  his  hands  until  he's  face  to  face  with  her  cunt  —  separated  only  by  the  thin  fabric  —  flimsy  and  surprisingly  lacy.   “   i'm  going  to  die  here,  briar,  and  i'll  die  happy.   ”   he  inches  closer  to  the  apex,  his  hands  following  suit.

[prettyyou]

briar  is  labeled  as  a  NERD  by  her  peers.  she  spends  her  weekends  with  her  nose  buried  in  an  overpriced  textbook,  raises  her  hand  in  class  before  the  other  students  have  the  chance  to  even  process  the  question,  and  she  walks  around  campus  alone  usually  —  which  then  makes  others  assume  she’s  too  good  for  anyone  else.  she  is  well  known  for  being  both  lily’s  twin  sister  and  being  the  know-it-all  in  all  her  classes.  however,  she  hears  the  comments  the  other  students  pretend  they’re  not  talking  loud  enough  for  her  to  hear.  she’s  uptight,  that  the  thought  of  sex  leaves  her  fumbling  and  nervous,  bashful  and  ashamed.  they’re  wrong  though.  there’s  a  smile  painted  across  her  cherry  lips,  eyes  brightly  shining  as  they  focus  on  charles  and  where  his  gaze  ends  up. 

  she  comes  alight  under  his  stare,  the  way  his  hands  fit  across  different  parts  of  her  body.  briar  craves  even  more  attention.  when  his  gaze  lingers  on  her  breast,  she  almost  has  the  audacity  to  arch  her  back,  but  she  has  asked  him  to  do  something  for  her  and  despite  the  grin  stretched  across  her  swollen  lips,  she’s  waiting.  the  moment  his  shirt  is  up  and  over  his  head,  briar’s  hands  immediately  reach  for  him,  barely  registering  that  he’s  speaking  to  her.  how  does  he  expect  her  to  pay  attention  to  anything,  but  what’s  in  front  of  her?  how  does  he  expect  her  to  form  words  when  all  her  mouth  wants  to  do  is  press  against  the  heated  skin  underneath  her  fingertips?  she  feels  her  sense  of  control  slowly  slipping,  however.  her  chest  arching  under  his  maneuvers,  under  his  gaze.  it  wasn’t  teasing  that  she  was  trying  to  explore  —  she  wanted  to  silently  tell  him:  yes,  to  touch  her,  please.  Fingers  thread  through  his  hair  and  bottom  lip  caught  between  her  teeth  as  she  waited,  hoping  that  her  actions  were  enough  to  get  through  his  head.  “touch  me  anywhere,”  she’s  breathless,  her  voice  sounding  desperate  to  her  ears,  yet  she  can’t  feel  bad  about  it.  the  two  were  tangled  together  for  a  reason.  she  doesn’t  want  to  shy  away  from  what  she  can  have.  “please.”

  her  fingers  move  from  his  hair  to  his  back,  nails  digging  into  the  flesh  as  his  chest  presses  against  hers,  melting  more  into  the  mattress  with  the  weight  of  him  on  her.  she  wants  more,  wants  to  wrap  her  legs  around  him  again  and  keep  him  there  long  after  the  party  is  over.  goosebumps  arise  again  across  her  thighs,  the  brush  of  his  fingers  against  her  panties  and  migrating  to  her  thighs  almost  make  her  want  to  beg.  it’s  been  so  long  since  she’s  been  intimate  with  someone  and  she’s  never  been  so  excited,  anticipation  consuming  her  entire  body,  to  have  sex  with  someone  she’ll  have  no  future  with.  briar  lives  by  organizing  and  planning,  this  random  moment  in  her  day  makes  her  feel  ALIVE.  “think  you  should  decide.  i’ve  always  thought  you  had  the  best  ideas,”  she  moans  softly,  eyes  closing  in  bliss  as  his  mouth  descends  down  her  neck,  shivering  at  the  cool  air  brushing  against  the  trail  his  lips  leave  behind.  she’s  squirming  underneath  him,  arching  to  fit  against  him  and  pliant  to  let  him  move  her  around  wherever  he  wants  her.  she  raises  herself  to  her  elbows,  gazing  down  at  him  and  feeling  the  blush  stain  her  cheeks  immediately.  flushed  from  head  to  toe,  she  can’t  help  the  way  she  becomes  a  bit  shy  and  bashful,  fingers  wrapped  around  the  comforter  she’s  laid  on  top  of.  “don’t  die  yet,”  she  complains,  pretending  like  the  thought  of  him  being  happy  to  be  so  close  to  her  –  so  intimate  with  her,  doesn’t  do  anything  to  her  racing  heart. “you  can  die  after  i  have  you.”

[theoresteia]

CLOSED  STARTER  .ᐟ               @               VAGUE  FRAT  HOUSE,               sometime  past  midnight               —    a  frat  bedroom,  sort  of  musty  but  private  (  the  door  locks  ),  the  bass  line  of  the  music  can  be  felt  from  the  bed  but  maybe  that  only  adds  to  the  senses

THE  ROOM  SMELLS  LIKE  SWEAT,  or  a  brand  of  cologne  that's  so  expensive  that  it  bleeds  into  everything  around  it,  or  like  @prettyyou,  writhing  beneath  him  with  his  nose  pressed  to  her  throat,  breathing  her  in  while  suckling  on  her  collarbone.     honey  and  sweet  nectar,  like  ambrosia  —  his  tongue  eases  over  her  skin  as  if  he'll  be  able  to  taste  her  that  way,  a  man  left  starving  to  be  saved  only  by  peach  and  a  lingering  vetiver,  or  the  feminine  sweat  stuck  on  her  skin,  the  saltiness  that  makes  him  groan  into  her,  trying  to  burrow  itself  deep  in  her  bones.  he  manages  a  sorry  and  pathetic,   “   fuck,   ”   when  he  comes  up  for  air. his  hands  are  everywhere.  truly,  charles  can't  fathom  that  he  isn't  dreaming  (  again  —  he's  not  too  proud  to  admit  that  half  of  his  fantasies  involve  her  beneath  him,  but,  maybe  he  won't  divulge  such  information  at  such  a  precarious  moment  )  as  he  drags  his  touch  over  her  body.  she's  lithe  and  wonderful  and  warm,  her  legs  spread  over  his  hips,  welcoming  his  exploration  with  her  soft  puffs  of  air  and  want.  she's  wanton  beneath  him,  her  skin  smooth  and  soft,  thighs  tight  around  his  body.  charles'  head  is  spinning  and  he  sits  up  to  catch  his  breath,  bringing  his  hands  to  her  waist,  unable  to  remain  still.  he  wants  to  touch  her  —  everywhere.  his  palms  have  brushed  over  the  sides  of  her  chest  and  he's  managed  to  reach  her  backside  (  he  can  probably  die  now,  having  lived  such  a  bountiful  life  ),  but  moreso  he  wants  to  feel  her  intimately.  run  his  hands  over  her  collarbones,  littered  with  evidence  of  his  desire,  press  his  fingers  to  her  ribcage,  draw  constellations  and  wishes  upon  her  legs.  charles,  staring  down  at  briar,  hardly  knows  where  to  begin.  peel  off  her  dress  or  rid  her  of  her  shoes  —  or  leave  everything  on  while  he  buries  his  head  between  her  legs  in  a  delightful  attempt  of  self - suffocation. he  says,  dumbly,   “   i  don't  know  what  to  do,   ”   and  lets  the  moment  hang  between  them.  charles  shakes  his  head.   “   not  like,  i  don't  know  how  to  —  have  sex  —  but  like,   ”   he  tapers  off  into  a  long  pause.  charles  shakes  his  head  again  and  grasps  at  her  thighs,  his  thumbs  drawing  patterns  on  the  insides  of  them,  creeping  toward  her  panties.  he  laughs,  a  breathy  sound,  and  leans  over  her  again.   “   forget  it.  i'll  make  you  feel  good,   ”   he  tells  her,  kissing  the  corner  of  her  mouth.   “   only  if  you  want  me  to.   ”   

[prettyyou]

it’s  all  too  much  and  not  enough  at  the  same  time,  dainty  fingers  tightening  through  his  hair  as  an  attempt  to  keep  him  closer.  she  feels  his  mouth  against  her  neck,  goosebumps  arising  on  her  skin  and  shivers  cascade  down  her  back  at  the  unfamiliar  feeling.  it’s  pleasant  and  she  wants  more,  more,  more.  she  welcomes  it.  there’s  a  blissful  smile  across  her  face,  head  tilting  back  slightly  –  like  a  silent  invitation  of  where  she  wants  his  mouth  to  be.  she’s  acting  like  she’s  done  these  maneuvers  many  times  in  the  past,  knowing  the  way  to  pull  a  man  close  and  get  what  she  wants  without  words.  briar  knows  exactly  what  she  wants  though,  forgetting  that  there  was  a  whole  outside  word  on  the  other  side  of  the  door  when  her  mind  can  only  supply  the  feeling  of  charles’s  weight  over  her.  she  feels  free,  shameless,  like  someone  could  somehow  walk  through  that  locked  door  and  catch  the  two  tangled  together,  lips  red  and  swollen,  and  the  pink  tinting  her  cheeks  wouldn’t  be  from  the  embarrassment  of  being  caught.

briar  melts  into  the  mattress  beneath  her  as  if  she  wasn’t  playing  a  different  version  of  herself,  her  hair  fanning  over  some  random  frat  guy’s  bed.  there’s  nothing  romantic  about  this  moment,  but  she’s  restless  when  charles  pulls  away,  laughing  breathlessly  at  the  profanity  and  absolutely  giddy  that  she’s  able  to  wrap  her  legs  around  charles’s  waist,  squeeze  her  thighs  against  his  sides  like  she  knew  she’d  get  the  right  reaction  from  him.  he’s  no  longer  the  charles  she  was  confronted  with  down  at  the  kitchen.  no,  instead  he’s  the  man  she  hasn’t  been  able  to  keep  her  eye  off  of,  heart  fluttering  whenever  he  so  much  as  looked  her  way  and  gave  her  any  sort  of  attention.  she  feels  a  bit  possessive,  almost  too  needy  to  have  his  time  spent  on  her.  briar  is  practically  trembling  under  his  touch,  despite  the  fabric  of  her  dress  being  the  one  thing  that  separates  the  warmth  of  his  hand  from  the  heat  taking  over  her  body.  she  doesn’t  hide  the  way  she  reacts  to  his  touch,  licking  her  lips  as  her  gaze  follows  his  hand  until  all  she  can  do  is  look  up  at  his  handsome  face.  instead  of  shying  away  from  his  stare,  she  reaches  for  him.  it’s  not  enough,  she  needs  him  closer.

she  blinks  at  him,  only  confused  for  a  second,  hanging  on  to  each  word  charles  said.  her  lips  press  together  to  hide  the  laughter  bubbling  within  her  chest,  feeling  relieved  that  while  he  fumbles  with  words,  maybe  she  can  feel  at  ease  with  fumbling  with  movements.  briar  is  comfortable,  though  she's  still  out  of  her  element.  “i  was  about  to  be  honored  that  you  were  giving  me  the  holy  right  to  be  your  first,”  she  teases,  the  rest  of  her  words  getting  lost  in  her  throat  with  his  hands  grasping  at  her  thighs,  the  warmth  of  his  skin  against  hers  causing  it  to  go  ablaze  instantly.  “i  want  you,”  she  tilts  her  lips  toward  charles,  fingers  finding  the  hem  of  his  shirt  and  giving  it  a  small  tug.  “want  this  off  first.”

[theoresteia]

the  bite  makes  the  game  more  fun.  charles  imagines  that  if  he  had  approached  any  other  girl,  the  task  would  have  been  easier.  less  herculean.  no  trials  but  instead,  zeus  appearing  as  golden  dust  to  descend  onto  a  wanting  neck  (  really,  charles  should  have  majored  in  classics  like  he  wanted  to,  but  there  isn't  any  money  there  —  and  his  father  wouldn't  have  ever  let  him,  maybe  mom  would  have,  if  he  had  asked  ).  his  lips  tilt,  spreading  into  a  wider  grin  and  he,  for  a  moment,  lets  his  eyes  wander  over  her  figure  —  again. “   you're  killin'  me  smalls,   ”   he  says  to  her  (  quoted  from  the  sandlot,  not  his  favorite  movie,  of  course,  because  that  would  be     ...     the  godfather,  or  something  )  and  leans  into  her  ever  so  slightly,  caging  her  in  by  placing  his  hands  on  either  side  of  her,  palms  against  the  counter.  at  this  distance,  he  can  smell  her;  the  perfume,  strongest  by  her  neck;  the  sweat,  which  makes  the  hair  on  the  back  of  his  neck  raise;  the  beer  —  abandoned  by  her  by  her  side.  charles  pulls  away  before  he  can  let  his  mind  wander,  but  keeps  his  hands  in  place.   “   was  it  your  sister?   ”   charles'  grin  widens  again,  winsome  to  some,  he  hopes  especially  to  briar. they're  twins,  briar  and  her  sister,  and  they're  alike  in  many  ways  but  charles  could  never  like  lily.  he  can't  even  see  her  when  they're  together,  or  when  they're  apart  —  and  when  briar  first  mentioned  she  had  a  sister  (  a  twin,  she  had  said  while  they  were  looking  for  a  history  book  in  the  stacks  —  they  is  a  generous  term,  but  she  was  talking  and  he  was  following  ),  she  told  him  to  stop  pretending  that  he  didn't  already  know  lily,  but  he  didn't.  charles  can't  remember  how  he  noticed  briar  in  the  first  place,  but  he  knows  that  she's  always  been  by  herself  —  just  her,  just  briar,  just  —  her. and  he  can't  explain  it.  amelia  knows,  she's  noticed  that  he's  noticed  briar,  but  she  won't  say  anything.  all  she  does  is  elbow  his  ribs  when  they're  on  campus  and  they  see  her  (  and  sometimes  amelia  will  point  her  out  and  it'll  be  lily,  and  charles  doesn't  know  lily  —  doesn't  care  to,  really  —  and  will  ask  amelia  if  she's  blind  ),  or  shake  her  head  at  him  when  he  looks  at  her  direction  during  class,  or  make  ridiculous  dares  that  she  knows  he  won't  back  down  from.  charles'  eyes  drop  to  briar's  lips.  his  grin  falls  to  a  smirk,  to  something  different,  almost  genuine.  he  should  really  go  kiss  someone  else,  fail  the  dare,  fuck  someone  else  in  the  storage  closet  beneath  the  stairs. he  makes  a  show  of  standing  straight  then,  removing  his  hands  to  stretch  his  arms  up,  his  elbows  cracking  and  his  shirt  rising  just  so.  a  hint  of  tanned  skin  peeks  out  from  beneath  his  hem,  his  abdomen  tight  in  his  stretch,  leading  down  to  the  front  of  his  trousers.  charles  looks  over  his  shoulder  at  the  rest  of  the  kitchen,  half  empty.   “   i  guess  if  you  give  me  the  name  of  who's  dress  your  wearing  —  your  sister's,  maybe  not  —  i'll  go  kiss  them  instead  of  you.   ”   for  a  second,  he  means  it,  but  his  eyes  catch  on  hers  when  he's  turning  back  to  her  and  —  charles  is  just  a  man.  he  gives  her  a  smirk.   “   or,  limited  time  offer,  i  could  make  you  look  not  pathetic  —  the  president  of  this  frat  has  a  really  cool  bedroom.  you  want  to  go  see  it?   ”   

[prettyyou]

she's  trying  to  find  a  catch  in  this  interaction. her  gaze  roams  over  his  features  while  attempting  to  keep  her  features  blank.  she's  wants  to  find  one  crack  in  his  stupidly  handsome  smile  that  can  prove  this  is  a  set  up.  it's  the  only  sense  briar  can  make,  knowing  that  the  two  spending  some  time  together  didn't  make  them  friends.  she's  dismissed  the  idea  constantly  to  her  sister.  there  would  be  relief  on  lily's  face  whenever  briar  confirmed  her  and  charles  were  not  friends.  briar  would  never  admit  how  ashamed  she  felt  seeing  that  look  on  her  sister's  face.  their  talks  continue  to  help  briar  put  distance  between  her  and  charles,  even  if  she  catches  herself  leaning  a  little  too  close  when  he  speaks  to  her,  even  if  she  fumbles  over  her  words  because  he  delivered  another  compliment  that  caught  her  off  guard.  at  least  she  knew  her  place. her  breath  hitches,  caught  in  her  throat  as  he  leans  into  her  space.  she  thinks  if  she  moved  forward,  even  just  a  bit,  she  could  press  her  lips  against  his  forehead,  his  cheek,  his  —  briar  mentally  shakes  the  thoughts  out  of  her  head  and  forces  herself  not  to  be  charmed  by  handsome  men  who  would  more  than  likely  stand  her  up  for  a  date  they  asked  her  out  to.  she's  almost  disappointed  when  he  pulls  back,  though  there's  nowhere  for  her  to  go,  trapped  between  the  counter  and  his  arms  that  she  doesn't  spare  a  third  glance  at.  at  the  mention  of  her  sister,  however,  it's  like  a  switch  goes  off  and  she  doesn't  have  to  try  to  keep  her  features  neutral.  "good  guess,"  she  says,  averting  briefly  behind  his  shoulders  as  if  her  sister  would  appear  at  the  mention  of  herself  or  one  of  charles's  friends  giggling  behind  him  for  getting  too  close  to  briar.  "she's  here  if  you  can  find  her." she  planned  her  life.  there  wasn't  any  room  for  surprises.  she  has  a  color  coded  planner  with  her  at  all  times,  preferring  to  write  her  ideas  down  with  a  pen  rather  than  type  the  words  out  on  her  phone.  she  knew  when  all  her  appointments  were  and  scheduled  all  her  homework  and  study  sessions,  leaving  openings  for  trips  to  the  library.  nowhere  in  her  planner  did  it  state  for  her  to  become  infatuated  with  CHARLES  MCVIKAR.  there  wasn't  room  for  him  to  crash  into  her  life  just  to  tease  her,  just  to  mess  with  her  head.  she's  still  so  sure  one  of  his  friends  will  pop  around  the  corner. briar  spares  a  quick  glance  down  when  charles  stretches,  will  deny  it  until  her  face  turns  blue  that  her  intention  wasn't  to  stare  at  him.  she  didn't  notice  the  way  his  shirt  rose  up,  tan  skin  peeking  through  and  only  being  a  finger  touch  away.  he  turns  back  to  her  and  they're  making  eye  contact  again,  a  facade  of  cool  and  collected.  she  isn't  thinking  about  what  it'd  be  like  to  grasp  the  bottom  of  his  shirt,  disposing  it  somewhere  behind  him,  feeling  the  smooth,  tan  skin  underneath  her  finger  tips.  even  if  they  were  in  the  kitchen.  this  is  briar's  imagination  and  who  is  to  say  the  person  standing  in  front  of  her  is  charles? "if  you're  really  dying  to  kiss  someone  else,  there's  a  house  full  of  people  who  won't  say  no,"  it's  her  chance  to  separate  herself  from  him,  yet  she  doesn't.  "wouldn't  you  think  the  president  of  the  frat  would  be  in  his  own  bedroom  after  using  a  similar  pickup  line  you  did?  do  you  go  in  there  often?  is  that  how  you  know  it's  cool?"

[theoresteia]

               CLOSED  STARTER  .ᐟ               @  VAGUE  FRAT  HOUSE,               sometime  past  midnight               —    a  lively  party,  drunken  co - eds  celebrating  a  victory  over  a  rival  school  (  an  excuse  to  get  alcohol  poisoning  and  feel  a  consenting  stranger  up  in  a  dirty  frat  bathroom  ),  the  corner  of  the  kitchen  where  time  and  space  folds  in  on  itself  —  and  it's  easy  to  be  overlooked.

the  curious  thing  is  how  easy  it  is  to  find  @prettyyou  at  the  house  —  considering  the  task  set  before  him  is  herculean  and  the  odds,  handed  to  him  by  his  friends,  his  lovely,  wicked  friends,  are  favored  against  him.  for  starters,  this  isn't  his  house  (  he  would  never  be  caught  dead  as  a  brother  in  this  fraternity  —  his  father  would  never  allow  it  )  and  he  only  barely  knows  the  most  basic  layout  because  of  his  teammates.  then,  she  has  always  been  impossible  to  find  in  places  like  this.  this  girl,  the  one  he's  supposed  to  find  (  and  makeout  with,  give  or  receive  a  hickey,  make  sure  someone  else  sees  it  —  otherwise,  the  entire  athletic  department,  particularly  the  figure  skating  team,  the  ice  hockey  cheerleaders,  yes,  the  one  with  ava - rose  young,  sees  how  pathetic  you  are  when  you're  absolutely  pissed,  said  to  him  in  one  breath  by  his  horror  of  a  best  friend,  one  amelia  brown,  love  of  his  life,  thorn  in  his  side  )  can  usually  be  found  in  places  opposite  of  this.  quiet  places.  undisturbed  places.  places  not  tainted  by  drugs  and  sex  and  alcohol  and  books  that  aren't  being  read.  he  thought  it  odd  that  she  came  at  all,  and  then  started  wondering  if  she  had  gone  to  the  game,  and  then  fucking  amelia  noticed. fucking  amelia. but,  curiously  enough,  she's  easy  to  find.  she's  tucked  away  in  the  kitchen  corner,  out  of  reach  from  other  party  goers,  stepped  out  of  traffic  as  to  not  garner  attention.  charles  would  think  it  more  adorable  if  he  were  sober,  but  half - tipsy  and  half - scared  and  half - watched,  all  he  can  think  about  is  how  he's  going  to  kiss  her.  he  hasn't  kissed  her  before.  he  doesn't  know  if  she's  been  kissed  at  all.  they  talk  in  the  library  sometimes  when  he  pretends  to  need  help  with  his  homework  but  he  hasn't  gotten  to  the  illicit  activities  section,  yet.  have  you  been  kissed?  have  you  been  touched?  have  you  been  loved?  or  liked?  she  scares  him,  a  little  bit,  because  he  thinks  he  actually  cares  about  whether  she's  been  kissed  before,  or  touched  before,  and  mostly  because  he  wants  to. though,  charles  mcvickar  is  a  man  of  wide  tastes  and  standards,  and  he  wants  to  kiss  and  touch  many  people.  he  tells  himself  that  this  girl  is  not  special.  she  helps  him  feed  his  ego  and  sometimes  solves  a  few  problems  for  him.  the  fact  that  she's  pretty  doesn't  change  anything.  there  are  a  thousand  pretty  girls.  so  many  beautiful  girls  that  will  let  him  kiss  them  and  touch  them  and— “   wow,  you  look  pathetic.   ”   he  walks  toward  her,  pausing  at  the  island  to  pour  a  cup  that  he  hands  to  her.   “   who  got  you  to  come  tonight  and  how  can  i  possibly  thank  them?   ”   his  eyes  run  over  her  frame  unabashedly,  his  tongue  poking  the  side  of  his  cheek  as  his  lips  turn  upward  into  a  lopsided  grin.  “   scratch  that,  who  dressed  you?  i'm  going  to  go  kiss  them  for  putting  that  dress  on  you.   ”   

[prettyyou]

she  finds  a  safe  spacing  hiding  in  the  kitchen.

briar  blends  into  the  walls,  becoming  one  with  her  surroundings  and  more  than  likely  remaining  unnoticed  by  the  crowd  of  party  goers  who  actually  want  to  be  there.  she's  in  a  kitchen  she's  never  seen  before,  attending  a  party  hosted  by  a  fraternity  she's  never  met,  and  she's  clutching  a  cool  plastic  water  bottle  as  if  it's  her  lifeline.  her  gaze  would  constantly  jolt  from  the  clock  hanging  above  the  entrance  to  a  throng  of  college  students  in  hopes  that  she  would  find  a  familiar  face  among  them.  she  avoided  eye  contact  with  others  as  much  as  possible,  knowing  she  did  disappearing  well  yet  still  feeling  like  everyone's  stare  fell  on  her.  why  was  this  awkward  student  doing  at  a  party  like  this  anyway?  what  kind  of  weirdo  attends  an  event  just  to  hide  and  be  alone?

she's  an  adult  —  a  grown  woman  so  she  wasn't  forced  to  be  here.  however,  briar  never  knew  how  to  say  no,  especially  to  her  twin  sister.  unlike  the  kitchen  she  currently  stood  in,  the  place  she  knew  best  to  exist  in  is  in  LILY'S  shadow.  it  had  never  been  a  competition  between  the  two  and  how  could  it  when  briar  is  destined  to  lose  from  the  beginning?  the  two  lived  completely  different  lives,  yet  her  sister  always  wanted  briar  to  be  a  part  of  her  world,  regardless  of  how  the  piece  never  fit  with  the  puzzle.  lily  is  sunshine  personified,  beautiful  and  kind,  lighting  up  the  room  with  her  personality  and  leaving  everyone  in  awe  and  a  little  obsessed  with  her.

lily  is  briar's  best  friend,  but  briar  isn't  lily's  best  friend.

it's  proof  in  the  way  briar  is  alone  at  this  party  that  lily  begged  her  to  attend  with  her,  an  empty  promise  briar  so  foolishly  believed  that  the  two  wouldn't  split  up.  there's  a  bit  of  resentment  hanging  between  the  two  that  only  she  can  feel  despite  how  it's  her  own  fault  for  even  hoping  it  could  all  be  different.  her  sister  dressed  her  up,  helped  briar  with  her  hair  and  makeup  and  the  effort  still  wasn't  enough  to  not  be  backed  up  in  a  stranger's  kitchen  with  her  feet  shifting  back  and  forth  in  anticipation  she  get  away.

her  heart  hammers  in  her  chest  when  she's  suddenly  making  eye  contact  with  CHARLES  MCVIKAR,  immediately  standing  up  straight.  his  presence  is  both  unwanted  and  an  annoyance,  wishing  she  could  make  herself  even  smaller  so  he  could  no  longer  see  her.  his  comments  give  her  whiplash,  unsure  what  emotion  she's  meant  to  feel  from  his  words.  is  she  supposed  to  feel  like  more  of  a  loser?  flattered?  is  her  cheeks  meant  to  heat  up  and  tint  with  a  faint  shade  of  red  over  his  backwards  way  of  complimenting?  he's  handsome  and  charming  and  popular  and  he's  got  bad  news  written  all  over  him  all  the  time.

she  knows  better.  she  should  walk  away  and  not  give  him  the  time  of  day.  use  this  as  a  chance  to  go  back  to  her  room  and  never  agree  to  go  to  a  party  ever  again.  just  because  he's  gorgeous  and  giving  her  attention  instead  of  anyone  else  doesn't  mean  that  she  needs  to  ⸻

"so  which  one  is  it?"  she  asks,  taking  the  cup  from  his  hand  before  quickly  putting  it  down.  she  doesn't  need  the  liquid  courage  to  talk  to  him.  briar  can't  let  her  mind  become  foggy  when  a  very  bad  decision  is  in  front  of  her  —  not  that  she's  expecting  anything  out  of  him,  but  it's  more  than  likely  she'll  feel  comfortable  to  the  point  of  humiliation.  she  hasn't  drunk  enough  to  handle  her  alcohol  well.  "am  i  pathetic  or  are  you  ready  to  makeout  with  the  person  who  dressed  me  tonight?"  her  snark  is  unappealing,  her  mother's  displeased  voice  already  in  her  head  scolding  her,  finger  pointed  at  her  as  she  exclaims  the  million  reasons  why  briar  will  end  up  alone.  "if  i  give  you  the  name  of  whose  dress  i'm  wearing,  are  we  done  here?"

she  regrets  it.  she  won't  give  him  lily's  name.

[theoresteia]

﹡› ‎  ‎  ‎ @prettyyou  ‎  ‎ .

when last they met, he hadn't known what she would be traveling into. when last they met, the times were gentle and soft, the sunlight was always golden and the hills were always green. though he spent half his time worried she'd contract smallpox or influence and the other half missing her, he had spent all of his time loving her. they bathed together and ate together and laid on the floor of his study to look at the stupidly painted ceiling together; he daydreamed of a future in which all of his days were stained with her color and her soul; he felt her breaths on the skin of his cheeks and imagined having the privilege of waking up to her every morning. they sat at the tablet together on her final evening and pretended they weren't crying into each other. leander memorized the shape of her shoulders and the way she fit against him. he gave her a kiss on the forehead and said goodbye to her beneath the stars she taught him so much about. he went inside to mark the next time they would meet. at the time, the date had seemed insignificant ( insignificant to everyone else, for him it was when they'd meet again ). now, he's anxiously staring at his pocket watch, waiting for her arrival. it's been decades since he's last seen her, but it might have only been a few weeks for her —  maybe a few days, even. a sliver of resentment rests in his jaw and he bites it, breaks it into a thousand pieces, swallows it when he puts his pocket watch away. his leg bounces impatiently. and then —  and then, he sees her. leander sees her. his hands go limp and his legs still and leander is breathless. he gets up from his seat and waves to her. despite their situation, he smiles ( because it is impossible to not smile when he sees her, how can one not smile in the face of love and beauty? ). oh, his heart is crawling up his throat, his lungs are stealing all of his air, she is in his arms in a second, holding him as tight as he is holding her ( don't leave me again, don't leave me again ) and he says, "zoya, you have to go." he looks around. "it isn't safe here —  shouldn't you have known this? being from —  from, where you're from."

[prettyyou]

there were times that zoya wondered if she was being punished. she was graced with a unique gift that both changed her life for the good and for the bad. it’s been years since she first discovered she was able to time travel, live the life as someone else while still being who she was in the future. she was able to get a handle on it most times, though the power itself was so unpredictable that there was no way she would ever master it. it brought her to leander though, the good in the situation, but also the bad too. how was she supposed to be okay leaving him all the time? how would she go back to her own time frame and accept that she couldn’t talk about him with anyone else? zoya would attend gatherings with her friends and their significant others, be a guest at a wedding, and always show up alone. they assumed she was single. they believed that her heart wasn’t into dating because she was too picky, believed to be too good for others. there was no way she could say she fell in love – that the love of her life was waiting for her in some era that she didn’t know existed yet. absence may make the heart grow fonder, but zoya wanted nothing more than their relationship to be normal. she wanted to turn over in bed and reach out to him, feeling the sleepy warmth of his body beside her and knowing she could reach for her phone and call her parents at the same time. a small part of her wondered when it would end. how long can the two of them last together before it all falls apart? what if one day she travels back to her time just to never cross paths with him again once she goes back in time? leander is handsome and charming, a personality that could light up a room and captivate it – it wouldn’t be hard for him to find someone else, to give his heart over to someone who might have the same abilities as him. it left her feeling sick sometimes, the unknown that always laid ahead of them, and it was hard to express that sometimes. why would she spend the limited time she had with her love discussing something heartbreaking? zoya wanted to use their time together clinging to him, her lips pressing against the curve of where his neck met his shoulder while her arms remained around no matter how much moving around he did. but it wasn’t time to think like that now. not when zoya could feel the way her entire being lit up once she saw leander. something feels off, however, her smile dropping almost immediately when he’s demanding she leave. how can she leave when she just got there? “i don’t understand,” she admitted, feeling a bit foolish and out of sorts. zoya tried to make sense of what he was saying, but nothing added up. “why isn’t it safe here? i don’t know where i am. what’s going on?” she was stubborn, not moving from her spot with eyebrows furrowed together. “you need to talk to me.”

[prettyyou]

*    response    ,    nereus    .​

     because  the  plan  is  his,  the  plan  is  flawless;  many  people  can  say  many  things  about  nereus  vizcaino,  but  they  will  never  be  able  to  say  that  he  is  a  poor  planner,  a  less  than  perfect  mastermind,  a  terrible  leader.  of  all  things  he  is  (  exceedingly  handsome,  wonderfully  intelligent,  a  small  bit  arrogant  but  who  can  blame  him,  really?  ),  the  thing  he  is  most  is  prepared.  if  one  of  his  team  is  caught,  he  knows  how  to  get  them  out.  if  a  door  is  locked,  he  knows  at  least  two  other  exits.  the  largest  part  of  being  a  mastermind,  after  all,  is  making  a  plan  and  a  thousand  more  based  off  of  it.

     and  still,  his  team  hardly  respects  him.  amber  is  flirting  with  a  billionaire,  edgar  is  getting  drunk  at  the  open  bar,  percival  has  decided  that  this  night  (  originally  designated  to  gather  intelligence  and  scope  the  museum  out  )  is  better  fitted  for  his  own  original  agenda  of  actually  staring  at  art  for  sale.  his  in - ear  piece  is  filled  with  the  voices  of  his  team  actively  ignoring  him  and  his  orders.  how  annoying.  and  completely  expected,  but  still  annoying  and  very  rude.  he  turns  at  the  sound  of  the  museum  doors  being  pushed  open,  ready  to  plaster  a  pained  smile  at  whoever  it  is,  but  scowls  when  he  sees  chan - woo  (  bane  of  his  existence,  worst  person  ever,  excellent  criminal,  literally  the  worst  person  nereus  has  ever  met  ).  he  grimaces.  “shouldn’t  you  be  on  the  upper  levels  with  percival?  if  he’s  not  going  to  pay  attention,  at  least  you  should.”  nereus  turns  back  around  with  a  shrug.  “or  not.  it’s  your  exit.”  he  will  never  leave  a  teammate  behind  (  security  purposes,  not  out  of  the  goodness  of  his  heart  ),  but  chan - woo  doesn’t  need  to  know.

chan  woo  believed  he  had  the  power  to  be  a  leader.  however,  having  the  power  and  actually  wanting  to  step  foot  in  that  humiliating  spot  were  two  different  things.  why  would  he  subject  himself  to  that  type  of  embarrassment  and  frustration  of  putting  his  entire  brain  into  a  flawless  plan  just  for  his  own  teammates  to  fall  through  because  they  couldn’t  follow  directions.  it  made  chan  woo  think  about  nereus,  wondering  if  the  man  kept  himself  up  at  night  with  tears  rolling  down  his  permanently  pissed  off  expression  as  he  came  to  the  realization  that  his  intelligent  plans  were  no  match  for  a  crew  who  did  as  they  pleased  –  or  at  least  some,  others  tend  to  forget  what  the  plan  was  halfway  through  or  pretended  they  knew  what  their  leader  spoke  on  about  and  paid  the  price  later  on.  he  could  admit  that  nereus  was  an  intelligent  leader,  but  what  good  was  that  with  a  team  who  lacked  respect?

he  wasn’t  an  angel,  he  was  a  flawed  teammate.  it  proved  now  when  he  strolled  into  a  room  he  knew  was  occupied  by  nereus  and  basically  paid  him  no  mind,  as  if  he  wasn’t  disrespecting  the  orders  given  to  him  earlier  in  the  day.  the  two  rarely  saw  eye  to  eye  and  even  when  they  did,  chan  woo  wasn’t  one  to  admit  it  out  loud.  he  wouldn’t  trade  his  leader  for  anyone  else.  who  else  would  come  up  with  a  laid  out  plan  with  a  success  rate  of  one  hundred  percent  and  also  be  fun  to  mess  around  with?  it  was  easy  to  get  under  nereus’s  skin,  the  scowl  across  his  face  once  his  eyes  landed  on  chan  woo  was  indication  enough.  “what’s  the  point  of  giving  percival  a  job  if  we  can’t  trust  him?”  he  asked,  tone  casual  as  he  walked  around  the  room  and  eyed  anything  that  wasn’t  the  leader.  “i  got  bored.  wanted  to  see  what  you  were  up  to  here,”  his  steps  didn't  pause  even  as  nereus  threatened  him,  one  that  held  no  substance  and  chan  woo  could  see  right  there.  “i’ve  been  in  the  mood  for  a  pepperoni  pizza.  i’ll  take  my  exit  now.”  he  turned,  taking  his  time  walking  to  the  door  he  just  came  through  and  waves  his  leader  off  behind  him.

[prettyyou]

*    ,    tomas  .

miray wondered what it said about her character for doing a film with her ex. she caught a glimpse of articles praising her for being so professional in putting their past behind them. they had been a celebrity couple practically known around the world when suddenly the two went their own way, keeping a low profile and suddenly everything they shared together was a distant memory to herself and to the public watching them. she enjoyed those kinds of articles – the ones who only made positive predictions on where the film would take her relationship with tomas and they continued to paint a false reflection of who she was. miray tried to avoid the articles that were close to digging the truth. the malicious articles were both far-fetched and factual at the same time. while they were far-fetched to believe miray was plotting to win tomas over again, they were factual because she hadn’t hesitated to accept the role despite hearing that tomas could play her opposite. her manager strolled into her home with big brown eyes, excited and worried to give miray the news. they hadn’t expected such a quick response and miray hadn’t let herself think of what that could mean.  there was never going to be a future for the two of them. early on, miray let herself believe that she could be the person who changed tomas’s ways. she was smart enough to get over the delusion quickly, however, stuck around regardless. their days could have been numbered and it did nothing to keep miray away. it was the thrill of pulling him close in a public area, where anyone can see and take a picture, spreading it like wildfire before the two made it back home, and feeling his smirk press against her lips as he teased her relentlessly for not waiting until they were alone. it was the thrill of being happy, of being wanted by someone else. at that time, she only needed to be wanted by tomas. it shouldn’t be a surprise that even after the two parted, her ex decided to do whatever he wanted. the two hadn’t spoken in months and yet he still strolled into her trailer like he owned the place, like he had any right to make himself comfortable in a space that belonged to only her. “i’m not avoiding you,” her gaze didn’t lift from her phone, tone bored as he approached her. she too obviously avoided the kissing comment. “it’s been a long day. am i not allowed to rest in my own cozy little trailer?”

[theoresteia]

@prettyyou​  —  our verses  +  alignment charts. assignments beneath the cut ( plus brief explanations )

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[prettyyou]

⸻      *      MIES      .

she  starts  to  pick  at  her  cuticles,  completely  ruining  the  work  her  style  team  has  put  into  her  utter  perfection.  capitol  darling,  so  loved  by  her  people  that  she  will  so  soon  be  put  back  on  the  chopping  block  like  livestock  —  dressed  up  so  that  the  people  will  weep  when  her  blood  runs  on  their  screens  and  the  cameras  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  light  going  out  in  her  eyes.  her  parents  will  mourn,  the  capitol  will  mourn,  the  rebellion  will  not  dare  be  associated  with  a  career  like  her  and  she  will  be  forgotten  with  the  years.  that  has  always  been  her  life.  there’s  never  been  a  life  without  it  —  even  though  she’d  asked,  even  if  yarro  had  answered.

what  could  she  have  ever  wanted  without  the  games?  she  was  born  a  killer,  blade  between  her  teeth,  blood  on  her  hands.  if  not  the  games,  if  not  the  quarries,  what  else  could  she  have  become?  yarro  —  not  a  fisherman,  but  he  could  have  thrived.  he  would  have  thrived  without  the  games.  handsome,  charming,  so  talented  beyond  the  weapon  thrust  into  his  hands  as  a  child.  she  can  see  it,  him  on  a  pile  of  gold  and  still handing  it  to  people  who  need  it  more,  a  basket  of  food  in  his  lap  and  he  still  leaves  it  out  for  the  hungry.  they  would  cross  paths  and  she  would  turn  her  nose  up  at  him.  he  would  know  her  for  who  she  is,  they  would  not  be  together  unless  another  extreme  situation  arose  (  such  as:  the  rebellion  ).

mies  says,  “i  don’t  think  there’s  anything  i  want.”  it  sounds  like  a  script,  something  she’s  said  so  many  times  since  she  won  her  games  that  it  doesn’t  even  sound  like  her  anymore.  a  clone,  maybe,  with  a   voice  just  like  hers.  “it  was  only  ever  two  options  for  me:  the  games  or  the  quarries.  i  don’t  even  know  my  other  options.”  she  thinks  of  the  other  districts.  “fishing  —  like  your  family,  but  i  barely  know  how  to  swim. maybe  textiles,  making  cloths.”  her  knees  curl  into  her  chest.  “imagine  if  we’d  been  born  in  the  capitol.  the  possibilities  are  endless,  so  much  so  that  i  don’t  even  know  what  there  is.”

her  smile  widens  for  a  moment  before  disappearing.  he’s  a  romantic  —  not  in  the  relationship  sense,  necessarily,  but  in  the  human  way.  even  with  the  horrors  he’s  witnessed,  he  sees  the  world  through  rose  colored  lenses.  yarro  still  has  a  sliver  of  goodness  and  hope  despite  fate  handing  him  a  handful  of  rotten  cards.  she  wants  to  steal  some  of  that  goodness  sometimes,  take  him  by  the  shoulders  and  make  him  as  terrible  as  she  is.  she  doesn’t  truly  believe  that  she’d  succeed,  even  if  she  tried.  she  clears  her  throat  and  puts  out  her  old  world  cigarette.  “if  you  really  think  you  were  destined  to  meet  me,  you  must  believe  you’ve  terrible  luck.”  she  manages  a  short  laugh.  “i’m  not  as  great  as  you  think  i  am,  you  know.  i  might  still  turn  and  side  with  the  capitol  after  all,  hunt  you  and  the  kids  in  the  arena.”

those  who  watched  the  games  had  little  idea  of  how  much  the  games  could  change  a  person.  even  when  he  was  younger,  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  bright  eyed  tribute  coming  out  of  the  games  alive  as  an  emotionless  and  cold  victor,  didn’t  shed  a  fraction  of  a  light  on  the  drastic  changes.  the  victor  had  won.  why  were  they  no  longer  smiling?  he  hadn’t  realized  the  trauma  and  turmoil  heavy  on  their  shoulders,  someone  else’s  blood  staining  their  hands  and  no  matter  how  many  times  the  victor  would  scrub  underneath  their  fingernails,  the  blood  couldn’t  be  removed.  alliances  were  broken  –  only  one  tribute  was  able  to  stand  in  the  end.  everyone  knew  the  reality  of  the  games,  but  bonds  were  still  made  strong.  they  dared  to  be  different,  they  assumed  they  could  be  the  forces  that  shifted  the  games  once  and  for  all.  he  hadn’t  understood  the  point  of  befriending  other  tributes.  it  was  about  survival.  he  saw  the  way  it  backfired  on  his  brother  so  he  couldn’t  grasp  why  anyone  would  worry  about  someone  else,  but  it  changed  with  mies.  she  could’ve  easily  killed  him,  put  a  knife  to  his  throat  and  slice  it  without  a  second  of  hesitation.  somehow  they  were  working  together  –  worked  together  well  despite  how  opposite  they  were  from  each  other  in  terms  of  personality  and  districts.

maybe  his  downfall  would  be  how  he  trusted  her.  maybe  in  the  end,  the  games  didn’t  harden  his  armor  enough  and  his  softness  made  him  vulnerable  to  threats  –  an  easy  target  to  anyone  with  common  sense.  he  just  doesn’t  think  that  mies  would  suddenly  turn  her  back  on  him,  not  after  everything  they  went  through  and  how  she  was  still  by  his  side  at  that  moment.  while  the  two  victors  may  be  different  from  each  other,  no  one  else  could  understand  his  experience  as  close  as  to  what  mies  can  and  that  meant  something  to  yarro.

he  listened  to  her  speak,  mindful  of  her  words  without  interruptions  or  dismissing  what  she  believes  because  it  doesn’t  fit  the  narrative  he  hoped  she  would  feel  instead.  they  were  different  people  from  different  backgrounds,  lifestyles  and  goals  set  in  their  brains  the  moment  they  were  born.  how  could  he  deny  what  mies  felt?  how  could  he  make  assumptions  when  he  doesn’t  know  what  truly  lies  within  her  heart  and  mind?  “maybe  when  this  is  all  over,  i  can  finally  teach  you  how  to  swim,”  he  states  it  as  a  fact,  lightens  the  mood  and  hopefully  puts  it  into  existence.  the  rebellion  wasn’t  the  end  for  them,  whether  partners  in  crime  or  people  who  once  knew  each  other  barely  crossing  paths  again.  it  would  be  nice  if  what  they  were  fighting  for  benefited  the  two  of  them  too.  “i  sometimes  wonder  what  it  would  be  like  to  be  born  into  the  capital,”  he  admitted,  hands  sliding  into  his  pockets.  “it’s  hard  to  picture  it  though.”

yarro  shrugged,  schooling  his  face  the  best  way  he  could  when  she  spoke  on  the  possibility  of  turning  on  him  –  almost  as  if  she  was  reading  his  mind  earlier.  she  wasn’t  wrong  and  he  wasn’t  going  to  fight  her  on  the  statement.  he  too  was  taking  a  chance  on  her,  whether  foolishly  or  not.  “maybe,  but  at  least  i  would  die  by  your  hands  knowing  that  i  tried  to  do  something,”  he  felt  almost  embarrassed  to  speak  it  out  loud.  the  sentence  was  childish  and  naive,  he  knew  better  than  to  use  his  words  so  carelessly,  but  there  was  no  turning  back  time  now.  “also  i  think  you  had  many  chances  to  use  the  trust  i  have  in  you  to  your  advantage,  or  at  least,  this  is  what  you  wanted  me  to  think  all  along.”  he  smiled  over  at  her  playfully,  letting  his  words  linger  in  the  air  and  stay  there.

[prettyyou]

⸻      𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲   𝐭𝐨   :         𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒊𝒂.

﹡› ‎  ‎  ‎  𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 ﹕ ‎  ‎  ‎ ˛       @prettyyou​

there  is  a  streak  of  selfishness  that  runs  through  this  noble,  royal  house.  it  has  a  mind  of  its  own,  a  destructive,  spreading  rot  that  has  lived  in  this  bloodline  from  its  first  moments  on  this  world.  she  has  known  all  her  life  how  it  festers  within  her.  often,  it  starts  in  her  gut  and  spreads  until  her  fingertips  are  numb  with  the  sinking  green  weight  of  envy  (  after  all,  envy  and  selfishness go  hand  in  hand  —  so  much  so  that  they  must  be  one:  a  terrifying,  paralyzing  god  that  has  ruled  over  this  unbroken  line  of  fearful  rulers  )  —  a  horrifying,  horrible  feeling  that  the  only  princess  of  house  thibris  has  never  been  able  to  tame.

when  it  comes  to  love  and  her  future,  she  has  known  her  fate  for  as  long  as  she  has  known  selfishness.  women  in  this  world  don’t  get  the  same  choices  as  men.  she,  as  a  princess,  will  not  have  the  same  opportunities  that  her  eight  brothers  receive.  all  of  their  marriages  are  planned  and  chosen  before  them,  but  at  least  her  brothers  have  the  right  to  as  many  lovers  on  the  side  as  they  wish  —  as  many  bastards  or  whores  without  so  much  as  a  consequence.  it  is  a  constant,  bleeding  source  of  envy  for  wulfrun  —  an  excuse  for  her  most  wicked  of  actions,  too  (  a  slip  of  a  secret,  a  woman  paid  to  humiliate  her  brothers,  a  turning  of  her  siblings  against  themselves  ).  if  she  cannot  have  love,  even  on  the  side  or  in  the  darkest  of  alleyways,  then  nobody  should.

her  approach  to  kudzai  is  swift  and  nimble,  one  well  -  practiced  from  years  of  deceit  and  treachery.  two  people  of  their  status  conversing  at  something  as  lavish  at  her  betrothal  ceremony  is  not  uncommon  —  it  may  be   more  suspicious  if  they  don’t  talk,  and  that  particularly  flimsy  reason  is  her  excuse  to  speak  with  him.  she  scoffs  first  when  she  reaches  him  and  quickly  hides  her  lips  with  a  sib  of  sour  wine  from  her  goblet.  “  your  betrothed  is  beautiful.  ”  it  would  be  a  compliment  if  she  meant  it,  but  her  words  are  sharp  enough  to  slice.  “  i  hear  you  two  make  an  excellent  match,  you’ll  be  helping  her  family  rise  in  the  court  significantly.  ”  wulfrun  laughs.  “  exactly  the  wife  you  want,  isn’t  it?  ”

his  face  was  repressed  of  any  emotion  that  might  give  way  of  his  true  feelings.  he  smiled  when  he  was  meant  to  –  guest  eyeing  him  as  a  newfound  statue  rather  than  a  future  crowned  king,  he  bowed  his  head  out  of  respect  when  older  noblemen  walked  his  way  with  praise  on  their  tongue,  and  he  fought  a  stubborn  eye roll  when  his  father  stated  how  proud  his  late  mother  would  have  been.  it  left  a  sour  feeling  within  his  stomach,  wanted  nothing  more  than  to  escape  the  event  taking  place  and  trap  himself  in  his  own  room,  hiding  under  the  covers  where  he  left  unseen  and  safe.  it  was  all  very  dramatic  and  he  was  sure  if  he  spoke  on  his  thoughts  to  anyone,  they  would  scoff  and  assume  he  was  a  jester  of  sorts  suddenly.  though,  there  was  an  ache  somewhere  as  he  watched  his  two  younger  brothers  have  the  time  of  their  life  at  a  party  they  held  no  responsibility  in.  and  that  was  the  cliche  part  about  it,  wasn’t  it?  he  put  all  his  power  into  not  disappointing,  put  his  soul  into  becoming  the  next  crowned  king  so  his  brothers  had  more  freedom  than  he.

it  wasn’t  as  if  his  brothers  held  no  responsibility.  they  weren’t  completely  free  of  their  prince-like  duties.  there  were  times  all  three  harrison  boys  were  standing  together,  gazes  only  needed  to  linger  on  one  another  briefly  before  they  were  able  to  read  each  other’s  minds.  the  three  of  them  were  born  into  the  wrong  family,  not  taking  a  liking  to  anything  regarding  royalty  or  their  duties,  however,  kudzai  took  the  brunt  of  everything.  his  brothers  weren’t  looked  upon  as  often.  they  were  able  to  drop  their  mask  and  be  themselves.  they  could  marry  who  they  wanted,  no  frequent  discussions  who  what  two  heirs  would  make  their  kingdom  stronger  with  an  alliance.  maybe  it  will  come  back  to  bite  him  in  the  end,  holding  his  head  up  high  and  spreading  himself  too  thin.  but  he  has  to  make  his  parents  proud,  he  has  to  take  the  burden  off  his  brothers  –  no  matter  how  foolish  it  may  be.

he  does  his  best  to  hide  the  smile  on  his  features  when  wulfrun  comes  into  view,  though  it  doesn’t  take  long  for  him  to  push  down  a  grimace  and  a  frown  at  her  harsh  words.  his  hands  are  held  behind  his  back,  clasped  together  and  remaining  poised.  kudzai  and  wulfrun  looked  like  two  royals  having  a  friendly  conversation,  nothing  out  of  the  ordinary  –  if  only  the  others  knew  what  real  history  the  two  royals  shared.  “you  left  your  own  husband  behind  to  make  eyes  at  my  own  spouse?”  his  tone  doesn’t  bite  the  way  wulfrun’s  does,  unsure  if  the  words  were  inflict  any  damage  the  way  hers  does.  despite  their  past,  she  should  know  he  didn’t  want  to  get  married  by  choice,  at  least  married  to  the  person  his  father  picked  for  him.  the  rumors  floating  around  about  how  well  they  are  together  is  strangers  witnessing  friendly  moments.  he  couldn’t  be  cruel  just  because  it  wasn’t  something  he  wanted.  “and  you  know  anything  about  the  wife  i  want?”

[prettyyou]

⸻      𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲   𝐭𝐨   :         𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒊𝒂.

there were consequences to dancing through time that leander didn’t understand. when they first met ( the first time, far far before now in a time where he was still home ), he made her explain it to him in great detail. what would happen if she knocked over a piece of stone? if she left a footprint in the sand? if he asked her to stay one day longer than she was supposed to? zoya was a great talker and an even better teacher, explaining the ripples throughout time in such a way that he understood, but even when he tries to wrap his head around it, he can’t ( or perhaps, he won’t — because damn the consequences if it means he gets to spend more time with her, if he gets to hold her hand longer, and wake up in the morning with her by his side; leander cares very little for the future, but he cares for her and if she says that she can’t stay without tearing open time and space, then he’ll let her leave ). the corners of his lips quirk up at her statement and he leans in to ask, “ a legend in your own time? ” he runs his eyes along her face. “ beautiful, mysterious, unnamed woman running around london at the height of the black plague. not a woman of the night, but something else, something much more pleasing to look at, ” he jokes.

leander had witnessed the rise and fall of the arts and human discovery. he had taken her around at her request, pretending that she didn’t already know the history of the places she was visiting. they had seen chapels built and painted and walked along places that might one day crumble to pieces. zoya thought many things were beautiful and she always said so; leander thought nothing was beautiful and he never said so, nothing except her.

so mankind creates art out of oil and colors and brushes, it doesn’t compare. the gods of the ancient days create cities and masterpieces with a snap of their fingers, it all pales in comparison. people rise and fall with the empires and he sits in the ruins of places he once knew intimately and all he can think about is her. something much more pleasing to look at, someone much more pleasing to be around, a person who makes his entire chest ache if he thinks about her for too long. his lips tilt and he looks away, nodding at a passerby as his heat begins to clench. “ i think it’s the other way around, zoya, ” he says lowly. “ i think you’re the one that’s stuck with me. ” — spoken like a lovesick fool, like patroclus who gazed upon achilles as if he were the sun and moon.

he used to laugh at them with his companions, used to lie on his back in the dunes of war and ask if the ten years were worth it. leander would fight a thousand years more for zoya if he needed to, he would die a thousand more deaths.

leander clears his throat and looks back at her, his eyes dipping over the lines of her face and the slender curve of her throat as she steps toward him. he committed her to memory the moment they met, but it doesn’t stop him from doing it again. there’s always something different about her, always something new to devour. he says, “ i’m no good with surprises,” because it’s true and his idea of a good surprise is always a cigarette or aged wine from a cellar he dug on his own. “ but, i’ll give it a shot for you, ” he continues. leander pauses for a moment to think before asking, “ alright, zoya, would you prefer high society life in this era or do you want to see the country? which is more riveting to a woman who knows the future? ”

zoya  liked  to  pretend  that  time  traveling  didn’t  scare  her  –  and  in  the  grand  scheme  of  things,  it  didn’t.  she  no  longer  felt  her  hands  shake  once  she  found  herself  in  a  different  time,  meeting  faces  that  she  didn’t  recognize  and  not  being  able  to  reach  anyone  she  knew.  at  first,  she  was  left  in  a  panic  of  confusion.  zoya  wasn’t  able  to  get  out  of  her  own  way,  feeling  free  and  safe  once  she  traveled  back  to  her  own  time.  it  was  like  night  and  day  with  how  different  things  were  now.  she  time  traveled  with  the  hope  to  meet  one  person,  praying  that  once  her  feet  landed  on  unfamiliar  soil  that  she  would  come  across  a  presence  that  reminded  her  of  home.  it  was  ridiculous,  foolish  to  voice  her  thoughts  aloud  considering  the  two  could  only  meet  by  chance  and  would  eventually  be  separated  by  fate  –  she  couldn’t  think  of  that.  she  couldn’t  think  of  the  inevitable  heartbreak  in  her  path  with  leander  in  her  sight,  with  his  arm  wrapped  around  her  and  her  big  eyes  sparkling  up  at  him  with  adoration  and  excitement.  she  caught  feelings  for  someone  she  could  barely  talk  about  with  others  who  didn’t  know  the  powers  she  possessed,  developed  feelings  for  someone  who  would  live  long  enough  to  forget  her.  it  was  a  hard  pill  to  swallow  and  it  was  something  that  she  forced  down.  the  only  thing  that  mattered  to  her  was  leander  and  the  spontaneous  night  they  didn’t  have  planned.  “hmm,  do  you  think  my  legend  status  would  be  because  they  think  i’m  the  cause  of  the  black  plague?”  she  paused  in  thought.  “the  moment  anyone  stopped  seeing  any  sightings  of  me  suddenly  is  the  moment  the  plague  has  stopped  too.  would  that  be  crazy?”

she  rolled  her  eyes  when  leander  claimed  she  was  stuck  with  him.  it  was  untrue  and  if  they  had  more  time  together,  if  the  unknown  wasn’t  staring  them  in  the  face  at  every  moment,  she  would  argue  with  him  until  she  was  blue  in  the  face.  he  was  stuck  with  her.  time  would  pass  and  he  could  find  someone  else  –  she  was  almost  positive  there  were  other  people  who  possessed  the  same  powers  she  did,  but  maybe  there  were  also  others  who  held  the  same  powers  he  did  too.  the  two  could  be  together  for  eternity  while  she  pinned  for  a  man  that  could  feel  like  a  dream  to  her  sometimes  –  a  sense  of  deja  vu.  “you  can’t  lie  to  me  when  the  night  is  so  beautiful.  look  at  the  stars.  they’re  probably  disappointed  that  you’re  lying  to  me  now.  you’re  stuck  with  me.  you  have  to  show  me  the  world.”

she  wanted  them  to  be  endgame  more  than  anything  in  the  world.  a  lovesick  fool  –  she  had  the  dramatics  of  a  hallmark  film,  but  the  heart  of  a  poet.

“i’ll  be  the  judge  if  you’re  good  at  surprises  or  not,”  there’s  a  big  grin  taking  over  her  features,  cheeks  pushing  up  with  the  heat  of  a  blush  over  leander’s  words  –  for  you.  “i  want  to  see  the  country.  the  high  society  life  in  this  era  does  sound  exciting  and  i  think  i  have  a  pretty  good  idea  of  what  would  be  in  store  for  me,  but  the  country  sounds  more…  riveting,”  she  teased.  “plus  i  think  i’ll  have  a  better  chance  being  alone  with  you.”

[prettyyou]

⸻      𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲   𝐭𝐨   :         𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒊𝒂.

venedict knew trouble as one knew their own name, recognized it in the curve of his eyelids and the shape of his jaw whenever he caught a glimpse of himself in reflection. he knew, too, that girls shaped trouble differently than boys; that they hid it on their tongues and in the spaces between their ribcages. it was the conundrum, truly, that despite their titles and their duties, boys like him and boys unlike him could cause as much trouble as they liked without having to be sly about it. trouble on venedict was stated as broadly as a cut along his brow or a bruise beneath his lip because it was expected. trouble on girls, on princesses, like nevaeh were stated soft enough for entire kingdoms to turn their eyes away in a mass blinding. for as long as he’d known her, he’d known her to walk right up to the edge of trouble and see how far she could tip over it. it isn’t his job to keep her out of it, but her status being ruined in the kingdom of his brother could spell — well, trouble.

she slipped into his room without so much as a blink, walking through the sliver as if she belonged. it was he who stuck his head out and looked up and down the hall once more before drawing himself back into his room after shutting the door. venedict ran his eyes over the princess, hands on his hips as she assured him that his guards were fine, that she was a princess and she were bored. she doesn’t mean trouble, her eyes say, doe-eyed and glassy. he would be in the wrong if he were to turn her away.

exhaustion seeps into his bones as the sun continues to rise painstakingly slow and he runs his hands over his face. “you may visit anyone you wish, of course, but you should not visit me,” he states plainly. “my guards are loyal men, but all it takes is one servant to cross the hall when they aren’t meant to for your status and reputation to be taken.” venedict is fine with his reputation, he will be fine no matter what his reputation is. nevaeh will not be. he can only imagine the scandal of a rumor taken out of hand. princess nevaeh, unbetrothed and unwed, spotted leaving the living quarters of the king’s bastard — the king’s bastard whose reputation is that of a foul man, one who spends more times in brothels and whorehouses than he does at home, a man that ruins fine young men and women in the name of disobedience. wars have started over less.

“you should be in bed, anyway,” he tells her, ignoring the way he is clearly still dressed from his night out. “it’s far too early. you should only now be rising from your slumber and starting your day doing—“ venedict gestures vaguely. “whatever it is that princesses do, getting betrothed or having tea or whatnot—not sneaking out before the sun has fully risen to visit bastards and whores.” he sits on his bed and starts to undo the laces of his day shirt. “were i a man less honorable, i would assume that you came to bed me. i’m sure others would think similarly should they learn your whereabouts.”

her  eyes  remained  on  venedict,  their  mannerisms  almost  too  predictable,  but  her  gaze  never  strayed  away  while  she  continued  to  watch  him.  nevaeh  studied  them,  noticing  each  turn  and  every  look  while  she  made  home  in  a  place  that  she  didn’t  belong.  although  she  wished  to  take  pride  that  she  could  read  others  so  well,  it  was  mostly  because  it  wasn’t  the  first  time  she  snuck  out  of  the  kingdom  and  it  also  wouldn’t  be  her  last.  she  wouldn’t  classify  herself  as  causing  trouble  –  it  meant  someone  would  have  to  catch  her  in  the  act  and  others  would  then  be  in  the  know  of  her  whereabouts.  however,  it  was  easy  to  slip  right  under  everyone’s  nose  when  no  one  was  paying  attention  to  the  middle  child  in  the  first  place.  her  name  was  popular  throughout  kingdoms  around  the  world,  a  face  people  would  recognize  almost  instantly  if  they  were  paying  attention  long  enough  to  look  away  from  her  sisters  –  her  oldest  sister  set  to  be  the  crown  queen  once  her  father  passed  and  her  younger  sister  was  the  apple  of  everyone’s  eye.  venedict  did  not  have  a  thing  to  worry  about.  he  would  not  fall  into  trouble  nor  would  anyone  remember  seeing  her  at  night.

an  innocent  smile  stretches  across  her  delicate  features,  nevaeh  doing  her  best  to  hold  in  a  mischievous  bit  of  laughter  when  venedict’s  hands  land  on  their  hips.  she  wouldn’t  have  been  surprised  if  his  next  words  were  one  of  expressed  disappointment,  expecting  more  from  the  princess  than  something  that  should  be  seen  as  normal  now.  how  many  times  has  she  snuck  out  with  the  excitement  to  see  the  other?  that  regardless  of  any  eye  roll,  any  sort  of  objection  from  venedict  himself,  she  was  still  looking  forward  to  the  little  time  they  could  spend  together?  she  enjoyed  what  she  couldn’t  do  –  sought  out  what  others  didn’t  want  her  to  do.  a  disapproving  look  from  the  person  she  decided  to  visit  wasn’t  going  to  change  her  mind  in  the  slightest.

“if  i  can  visit  anyone  i  wish,  why  can’t  it  be  you?”  she  asked,  innocence  lacing  her  tone  the  way  it  remained  on  her  face.  she  was  pushing  his  buttons,  eventually  pushing  her  luck  as  well  with  her  parents  and  her  kingdom.  nevaeh  may  be  overlooked  by  most,  but  at  the  end  of  the  day,  she  shouldn’t  be  selfish  to  put  her  own  desires  ahead  of  what’s  better  for  those  around  her.  she  pretended  it  didn’t  mean  that  if  she  was  caught  one  day  –  if  rumors  began  to  spread  about  what  the  princess  was  doing  in  the  late  hours  of  the  night,  a  guard  would  be  on  watch  to  see  her  every  move.  her  freedom  would  be  gone.  however,  nevaeh  wanted  to  worry  about  it  when  the  time  arose  rather  than  now.  “nothing  will  happen  to  my  status  or  my  reputation.”

her  gaze  roamed  over  him,  though  she  remained  silent  while  a  frown  replaced  the  grin  quickly.  she  wasn’t  daft  to  what  others  said  about  venedict,  hadn’t  just  heard  it  from  venedict  themselves.  it  left  an  unpleasant  feeling  withering  in  her  chest,  dropping  to  the  pit  of  her  stomach.  people  were  cruel  and  she  wished  venedict  wasn’t  the  one  going  along  with  those  insulting  words  either.  “i’m  not  sneaking  out.  i’m  here  to  visit  a  friend,  who  i  was  waiting  for  to  come  back.”  nevaeh  shrugged.  “let  others  think  what  they  want  to  think  about  my  whereabouts.  i  don’t  see  anything  wrong  with  what  you  or  others  would  be  assuming.”

[prettyyou]

⸻      𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲   𝐭𝐨   :         𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒊𝒂.

their jaw is clenched, almost irreversibly so, as it always seems to be in the presence of orion nam. every memory with him is accompanied by an incredibly gnawing sense of bitterness, the kind that makes their stomach turn and grind while their heart tries to force itself into a flatline. they’re sure that orion isn’t a horrible person ( he, in fact, is widely loved by their friends and they’re almost sure that they’re the only one in the entire campus that thinks poorly of him ), but he’s the only one that still talks to them when — very obviously, they aren’t looking for a conversation. the animosity alone is enough to make them look over their shoulder, knife still in his face, and wonder if it might be better to fling themselves back into the jaws of the undead.

but, they finally lower it with a sigh. their chest is tight and their legs are only now starting to get feeling back in them. they may be at the top of their class, but they’re wildly out of shape. they huff, “ sorry, ” without really sounding apologetic and press their back against the door. “ how are you—? out of all people, all the students on the campus and you’re—? ” they cut themselves off and push themselves off the door. “ i can’t believe this. how am i going to turn in my paper? ”

it could be argued by some ( read: the others that are trapped with them who roll their eyes at their exclamation ) that maëlys’ priorities weren’t sorted correctly, but they had spent hours on their academics. after a thought, however, and a deep breath, they turned back to the door and stared out the thin window, observing the undead beings dragging themselves across the floors toward anything that made a sound. they weren’t a stranger to zombie literature and pieces in media that featured the undead, but they had only ever been fiction. the dead do not rise, they remain dead. maëlys turns their head over their shoulder and asks, “ you started this, didn’t you? ”

maybe  in  another  lifetime  –  a  different  kind  of  circumstance,  orion  would  be  a  little  angrier  that  a  knife  was  pointed  in  his  direction,  one  wrong  move  and  it  was  a  dagger  at  his  throat.  in  another  reality,  maybe  he  would  try  to  fight  back  and  defend  himself  against  the  person  who  expressed  their  obvious  dislike  toward  him  and  would  hurt  him  without  hesitation,  without  a  sudden  blink  or  flinch.  the  truth  of  the  matter  was  he  and  maëlys  were  trapped  together  in  a  random  classroom,  unknown  beings  loitering  around  the  campus  and  entering  the  buildings  to  cause  destruction  and  death.  orion  couldn’t  deny  his  agitation  that  the  first  thing  the  other  student  thought  of  doing  was  attack  him  as  if  he  was  the  one  at  fault  for  the  end  of  the  world  crumbling  down  around  their  feet.  he  saved  her  after  all  and  he  wasn’t  looking  for  an  award  or  even  a  thank  you  from  them,  but  the  last  thing  he  expected  was  someone  to  dislike  him  so  much  that  even  saving  their  life,  even  if  the  two  were  doomed  within  an  hour,  would  end  with  a  knife  pointed  at  his  throat.

he  kept  his  calm  though,  not  because  he  believed  maëlys  would  let  their  guard  down,  but  there  was  so  much  chaos  that  the  last  thing  he  wanted  to  do  was  fight  with  someone  who  was  going  through  the  same  nightmare  as  him.  he  was  relieved  when  she  put  the  knife  down,  straightening  up  slightly  to  keep  his  own  walls  up  because  maybe  the  two  could  work  together,  but  maybe  maëlys  would  find  a  plan  that  would  only  protect  herself.  he  rolled  his  eyes,  turning  his  back  toward  them  as  they  finished  their  ramble.  a  paper?  he  was  almost  positive  the  professors  belonging  to  this  specific  classroom  were  gone  –  whether  from  a  zombie  or  running  off  to  protect  themselves.  who  cared  about  a  paper  at  a  time  like  this?

“i’ve  managed  to  hide  out,”  orion  confessed,  staring  out  the  window,  but  out  of  focus  enough  to  not  catch  anyone  or  any  zombies’  eye.  “i’m  sure  we  can  find  more  students  –  i’m  just  taking  advantage  of  hiding  out  while  i  can.  no  use  screaming  and  running  around.  it’s  attracting  them,”  he  doesn’t  say  anything  about  watching  one  of  his  friends  fall  and  being  split  up  from  another.  no  one  had  wanted  to  listen  to  orion.  he  was  loved  and  praised  until  it  came  time  to  use  his  brain.  “why  are  you  worried  about  a  paper?  don’t  think  anyone’s  gonna  grade  your  paper  in  a  while.”

he  looked  away  from  the  window  to  look  at  maëlys,  almost  uttering  the  words  to  make  an  alliance  together  and  maybe  –  just  maybe  the  two  could  get  out  of  this  alive.  an  alliance  didn’t  have  to  mean  a  friendship,  however,  it  was  all  out  the  window  with  the  zombies  dragging  their  feet  behind  them  when  maëlys  once  again  opened  their  mouth.  “you  found  out  my  master  plan?”  his  voice  was  deadpanned,  a  sneer  to  his  lips  while  his  gaze  found  the  window  interesting  once  more.  “i  finally  made  my  zombie  army  come  to  life  so  i  can  take  over  the  world.  do  you  think  you’re  the  main  character  of  a  show?  be  serious.”

[totalsellout]

JOY 221109

[prettyyou]

⸻      𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲   𝐭𝐨   :         𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒊𝒂.

she’s  a  talker.  at  his  very  core,  noah  is  not  a  talker  but  rather  a  man  of  refined  principles  (  principles  which  include  not  falling  for  his  principle,  he  reminds  himself  ).  he  is  a  child  that  is  seen  and  not  heard,  a  brother  that  listens  to  every  problem  of  his  sisters’,  a  person  that  is  much  better  at  observing  than  he  is  as  talking.  isadora,  he  knew  from  the  moment  they  met,  was  someone  who  filled  every  gap  of  silence  that  he  allowed  to  grow  with  a  word  —  or  a  sound  —  or  an  exclamation  that  (  originally,  not  so  much  anymore  )  made  his  head  throb  and  ears  ring  from  the  sheer  amount  of  thoughts  she  had.  perhaps  that  makes  a  good  novelist,  someone  who  has  a  million  thoughts  in  the  span  of  a  second,  someone  who  has  a  ton  of  ideas  that  they  must  share  as  soon  as  it  presents  into  their  mind.  speaking  candidly,  should  isadora  not  be  his  principle  and  someone  he  met  for  coffee,  he  might  appreciate  the  conversation.  he’s  never  known  how  to  fill  silences  on  his  own,  after  all,  and  if  they  had  met  when  he  were  not  employed  (  by  her,  technically  )  to  protect  her  and  put  her  well - being  ahead  of  his  own,  he  might  enjoy  her  company.

it  isn’t,  after  all,  that  he  does  not  enjoy  listening.  nina,  his  youngest  sister  and  most  outgoing  of  all  the  hwangs,  does  not  know  when  to  stop  when  she  starts  going.  he  rather  enjoys  sitting  with  her  while  she  fills  the  silence.  he  knows  the  cadence  of  her  voice,  the  dips  and  rises  of  an  accent  that  she  never  lost  (  valley  ),  and  the  way  she  structures  her  sentences.  he  loves  listening  to  whatever  it  is  she  determines  is  important  enough  for  him  to  know,  whether  it’s  her  latest  celebrity  crush  (  an  idol  from  a  group  he  doesn’t  know,  or  maybe  a  superhero  from  a  movie  he  hasn’t  watched  )  or  the  latest  drama  in  her  life  (  her  friend  thinks  her  car  is  a  stupid  color,  but  nina  painted  it  herself  ).  therefore,  noah  knows  that  in  other  circumstances,  he  could  enjoy  the  constant  sound  of  isadora’s  voice  and  her  words  —  but  in  this  circumstance  where  he  has  to  be  serious  and  everything  must  be  taken  seriously,  he  cannot.  (  “cannot”  )

he  holds  up  a  hand  at  the  end  of  her  spiel  and  clears  his  throat.  “  you’re  very  entertaining  and  witty.  however,  no  coffee  for  me,  miss  seong  —  it  would  distract  me,  ”  he  lies.  he  would  really  love  some  coffee,  but  it  makes  him  jittery  if  he  drinks  too  fast  —  and  noah  would  gulp  it  down  to  keep  up  with  her.  “  this  isn’t  about  my  hours,  this  is  about  your  safety.  ”

noah  opens  up  the  folder  and  starts  to  place  things  around  the  island  counter.  blueprints  on  the  left,  her  itinerary  on  the  right,  papers  and  fliers  about  the  event,  all  of  the  keynote  speakers.  at  his  organization  (  and  amazing  research  —  he’d  make  an  excellent  academic  in  another  life  )  and  carefully  color  coded  documents  displayed  before  them,  he  allows  a  smile  to  grace  his  lips  before  his  face  falls  flat  again.  he  points  at  the  list  of  dates  and  says,  “  the  more  days  you’re  there,  the  more  opportunity  there  is  for  someone  to  put  you  in  danger,  ”  and  then  points  to  the  blueprints.  “  and,  the  hotel  is  bigger  than  necessary  and  it  will  be  at  maximum  occupancy,  meaning  more  people  will  be  able  to  hurt  you  if  they  wish.  ”  a  ball  of  stress  starts  to  grow  in  his  chest.  he  pushes  it  away.  “  i  am  only  asking  that  you  consider  lessening  your  stay  at  the  talk.  ”

in   an   alternate   universe,   isadora   and   noah   might’ve   been   friends.

maybe   in   that   other   timeline,   isadora   forced   herself   to   attend   university,   thinking   it   would   make   her   a   bigger   deal   in   the   writing   world,   and   cross   paths   with   noah   out   of   the   blue.   she   wanted   to   believe   in   fate,   that   two   or   more   people   were   destined   to   meet   no   matter   the   time   or   place   of   their   universe.   she   thinks   that   small   spark   is   what   fools   her   into   thinking   the   two   would   be   friends   if   he   wasn’t   hired   as   her   bodyguard   —   that   he   won’t   leave   once   the   job   doesn’t   suit   him   anymore   and   the   two   went   their   separate   ways.   isadora   has   read   enough   romances   and   watched   enough   dramas   to   know   that   even   those   who   aren’t   destined   to   be   with   each   other   forever   could   still   meet   in   every   timeline,   but   she   wonders   how   many   times   she   was   destined   to   meet   the   same   people   just   for   them   to   leave   and   forget   her   unlike   the   way   she   could   forget   them.  

it’s   possible   too   that   this   was   the   only   universe   isadora   and   noah   would   meet.   it   was   easy   to   lose   focus   of   what   their   relationship   truly   was   because   there   was   moments   she   felt   as   if   she   was   spending   her   time   with   a   good   friend.   she   trusted   him   to   watch   over   her,   however,   he   suddenly   became   the   first   person   she   wanted   to   share   any   type   of   news   with   and   felt   her   heart   beat   widely   in   her   chest   when   he   sat   and   listened.   noah   wasn’t   one   for   words,   but   she   never   minded   filling   the   silence   between   them   comfortably.   it   helped   to   know   he   remembered   the   things   she   said   even   when   she   forgot   so   at   times.   she   wondered   if   he   realized   that   too.   

she   had   always   been   a   talker.   there’s   people   who   have   told   her   she   must   like   the   sound   of   her   own   voice   because   she   could   waste   a   whole   presentation   period   in   school   talking   away,   easily   becoming   side   tracked   whenever   someone   would   ask   a   question   or   another   thought   popped   into   her   head.   isadora   wasn’t   sure   why   her   mouth   had   a   mind   of   its   own,   but   it   seemed   she   just   wanted   someone   to   listen   to   her   and   care.   everything   she   said   fell   on   to   ears   who   wouldn’t   listen,   memories   who   wouldn’t   remember.   isadora   talked   so   much   because   she   thinks   she   would   go   insane   from   loneliness,   even   the   illusion   someone   was   listening   to   her   was   enough   to   keep   her   feeling   less   lonely   for   the   day.   so   it   was   easy   to   get   lost   in   noah   paying   attention   to   her,   but   she   forced   herself   to   remember   he   was   paid   to   care   about   her.   he   was   the   only   one   she   couldn’t   be   hurt   by.   he   was   fun   to   her   though,   cherishing   the   time   they   spent   together   even   if   she   maxed   out   her   word   count   and   he   barely   reached   his   minimum.

“you   can   have   fun   on   the   job,   you   know,”   isadora   stated,   though   there’s   a   slight   pout   to   her   lips   as   noah   rejects   sharing   a   cup   of   coffee   with   her.   it’s   playful   and   immature   and   she’s   positive   she   won’t   get   a   reaction   out   of   him,   but   it   didn’t   hurt   to   try.   “i’m   a   fair   boss,   noah.   your   hours   are   just   as   important   to   me   as   my   safety.   i’ll   hide   in   my   cave   for   a   few   days   whenever   you   request   some   time   off.”

her   eyes   widen   the   moment   noah   opened   the   folders,   finding   herself   speechless   at   the   thought   and   work   that   went   into   the   material   spread   out   in   front   of   her.   her   eyes   roam   around   it   all,   trying   to   make   sense   of   everything   displayed.   she   leaned   forward   in   her   seat,   like   she   wanted   to   press   her   face   against   everything   so   it   can   absorb   into   her   mind.   thankfully,   her   brain   doesn’t   have   to   go   into   overload   when   noah   starts   speaking.   she   took   in   every   word   he   said,   letting   the   ideas   roll   around   in   her   head   instead   of   attempting   to   brush   the   matter   away.   he   was   her   bodyguard   after   all.   her   manager   must   have   informed   him   about   the   gifts   the   company   has   been   receiving   that   were   all   for   isadora,   the   consistent   letters   that   were   addressed   to   her   where   the   words   looped   on   the   page   wasn’t   something   she   could   no   longer   stomach,   and   about   the   threats   that   was   made   to   her   in   forms   of   videos   and   social   media   updates   if   she   didn’t   return   the   feelings   of   a   man   she   never   met   before.   she   started   feeling   anxious   then,   wondering   if   her   event   made   enough   noise   that   whoever   the   strange   man   was   would   be   able   to   find   her.   she   shouldn’t   be   nervous   because   the   whole   purpose   of   noah   being   there   was   to   make   sure   nothing   happened,   but   what   if   the   other   man   did   something   to   noah   to   get   through   to   her.

her   bottom   lip   is   caught   between   her   teeth.   her   eyes   don’t   stray   from   what   noah   prepared   for   her.   the   atmosphere   changed,   for   her   at   least,   and   she   nodded   her   head   to   show   her   agreement   with   her   bodyguard.   “you’re   right.   let’s   go   with   your   idea   and   i’ll   lessen   my   stay,”   she   finally   looked   up   at   him   and   offered   him   a   soft   smile.   “thank   you.”

[prettyyou]

⸻      𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲   𝐭𝐨   :         𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒊𝒂.·

perhaps  the  most  embarrassing  thing  about  this  all  (  this  all  being  this  back - and - forth - metaphorical - hair - pulling - not - in - the - sexy - way  thing  )  is  that  she  can  put  it  to  rest  whenever  she  wants  to.  vincenza  knows  that  the  mature  thing  to  do  would  be  to  turn  her  nose  up  and  never  speak  to  daisy  again;  she  grew  up  in  the  kind  of  world  that  depended  on  intelligence  and  maturity,  after  all,  and  her  mother  taught  her  both  how  to  be  a  fine  young  lady  of  high  society  and  how  to  fight  like  a  fine  young  lady  of  high  society.  let  them  win  the  battle,  you  will  win  the  war  by  marrying  their  dad  —  or  something  along  those  lines.  but,  despite  having  the  knowledge  and  the  finesse  to  bury  the  axe  between  them,  vincenza  doesn’t  want  to.  there  is  an  irresistible  pull  between  them  that  keeps  her  up  at  night  thinking,  which  she  hates  doing.  she  stares  at  the  blank  ceiling  of  the  dorm  she  insisted  on  living  in  to  anger  her  parents  and  thinks  about  the  concept  of  soulmates;  she  can’t  decide  which  reiteration  makes  the  most  sense  to  her.

she  supposes  that  daisy  might  find  it  all  non-sensical,  especially  if  vincenza  is  the  one  talking  about  them.  if  there’s  this  thing  between  them  that  she  can’t  get  rid  of,  which  story  fits  them  most?  the  one  where  zeus  split  mankind  in  half,  the  whole  story  about  the  red  strings,  reincarnation?

vincenza’s  lip  curls  widely,  thoroughly  entertained  by  the  girl  in  front  of  her.  her  eyes  fall  to  her  manicured  hands  (  not  that  vin  stares  at  daisy’s  hands,  but  sometimes  she  notices  that  they’re  nicely  done  and  her  nail  polish  is  rarely  as  chipped  and  uneven  as  vincenza’s  and  sometimes  she  also  wonders  what  those  fingers  would  feel  like  —  not  that  she  stares,  again,  but  sometimes—  )  and  decides  that  it’s  the  red  string.  they’re  tied  together,  obviously.  that’s  why  they  can’t  get  rid  of  each  other.  that’s  why  even  if  they  insist  that  they’re  better  than  the  petty,  childlike  rivalry,  they  always  end  up  in  each  others’  orbits.  the  earth  and  the  moon,  she  supposes,  caught  in  the  other,  never  able  to  break  away,  just  out  of  reach.  vin  is  the  earth,  daisy’s  the  moon  among  the  stars,  dragged  into  earth’s  orbit  because  of  its  ginormous,  big  head  —   she  doesn’t  know,  vincenza  isn’t  an  astrologist  (  is  it  astronomist,  actually?  ).

“  haven’t  you  heard,  sweet  flower?  ”  she  teases,  her  voice  growing  a  maroon  shade  of  sultry.  vincenza  leans  forward,  barely  breaking  the  bubble  of  personal  space  around  daisy.  her  eyes  run  over  her  fine  features,  mapping  the  dips  and  curves  of  her  collarbones,  memorizing  the  shape  of  her  neck.  she  smiles  and  says,  “  my  daddy  didn’t  love  me  enough,  i  love  it  when  the  boys  validate  me.  ”  she  steps  out  of  the  doorway,  finding  her  place  on  the  steps  next  to  daisy.  they  stand  close  enough  to  obviously  be  caught  in  a  conversation  but  not  nearly  close  enough  for  it  to  mean  anything.  “  do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  more  about  the  things  they  do  to  me  that  i  love?  ”  she  continues,  popping  a  hip  and  dragging  the  cigarette  back  to  her  lips.  “  unless,  that  would  scandalize  you,  miss  missionary  only.  ”

her  attempt  at  an  insult  sets  women  back  centuries.  obviously,  there’s  nothing  wrong  with  missionary  only,  especially  not  when  vincenza  is  so  touch  (  and  love  )  deprived  that  she  lets  anyone  do  anything  to  her  in  the  name  of  reclaiming  sexuality  for  women.  oh,  if  the  girls  in  her  women’s  studies  class  heard  her  teasing  daisy  for  having  boring  sex  (  see:  shaming  her  ),  they  would  revoke  her  spot  as  designated  discussion  starter.

“  either  way,  i  am  obsessed  with  you,  ”  she  admits  truthfully,  though  it  sounds  much  more  like  a  lie  coming  from  her  lips.  the  sneer  probably  doesn’t  help,  either.  “  thanks  for  finally  noticing.  ”  she  adds  on  to  maybe  help  her  sound  more  sincere.  it  doesn’t  help.  this  entire  conversation  reads  like  vincenza’s  making  fun  of  daisy,  teasing  the  cute  nerd  so  she  can  stand  her  up  on  prom  night.  it  doesn’t  matter  how  honest  she’s  being  to  daisy,  they  only  ever  speak  to  each  other  like  they’re  trying  to  make  the  other  explode  with  their  mind.  “  the  things  i  would  do  to  hear  you  compliment  me.  even  just  a,  ‘  wow,  vincenza,  your  hair  looks  amazing,  it  really  makes  your  eyes  pop  ’  or  maybe  you  could  say,  ‘  gee,  vinnie,  your  boobs  look  amazing!  ’  ”  the cigarette  is  almost  to  her  lips,  but  she  draws  it  away  the  more  she  speaks.  vincenza’s  eyes  dip  to  daisy’s   décolletage  as  she  mumbles  the  last  part  nearly  incoherently.  they  snap  back  up  to  daisy’s  gaze  quickly.  “  but,  alas,  ”  she  sighs  dramatically.  “  if  your  choice  is  none  and  you  don’t  want  to  come  into  the  party,  i’m  sure  you’ll  find  elsewhere  to  go.  without  your  friends  and  your  crush  …  ”  she  trails  off  and  lets  her  lips  spread  with  delight.  “  and  your  favorite  girl  on  campus.  ”

the   easiest   thing   daisy   could   do   in   that   moment   is   step   away.   it   was   simple   and   she   was   able   to   hold   her   dignity   intact   instead   of   feeding   off   every   dagger   vincenza   threw   her   way.   it   wasn’t   the   first   time   she   attended   a   party   at   the   frat   house,   she   knew   her   way   around   the   place   easily,   but   here   she   was   at   the   front   door   with   vincenza   staring   down   at   her.   there   was   something   hanging   in   the   atmosphere   between   them,   something   she   didn’t   want   to   admit   to   herself.   it   was   the   truth   on   why   she   didn’t   take   off   after   vincenza   made   it   her   mission   to   get   under   daisy’s   skin,   just   a   few   words   to   leave   daisy   feeling   slightly   out   of   place   and   wanting   to   hold   her   ground   against   the   other.   however,   it   was   much   more   than   that.   there   was   a   reason   why   she   wasn’t   currently   searching   for   her   friends.   there   was   a   reason   why   she   ignored   the   phone   vibrating   in   her   back   pocket,   most   likely   the   friends   in   question   wondering   where   daisy   was   when   she   sent   a   message   in   the   group   chat   she   was   arriving   in   any   second.   instead   she   played   with   the   cards   she   was   dealt,   waiting   for   vincenza   to   make   any   sort   of   move   that   would   keep   daisy   staying   longer.

it   was   humiliating   for   her   to   come   to   terms   with   that.   if   she   were   to   give   into   temptation,   if   she   were   to   take   a   bite   of   what   felt   like   forbidden   fruit,   would   she   be   satisfied   in   the   end?   or   was   the   whole   purpose   of   daisy   and   vincenza   crossing   paths   time   and   time   again   just   a   lead   up   to   her   doom?   she   held   herself   to   a   higher   standard   and   was   exactly   like   what   people   said   about   her.   she   was   spoiled   and   uptight,   she   thought   she   was   better   than   others   —   unless   it   came   to   those   she   cared   about   or   wanted   in   some   sort   of   way.   the   talk   about   vincenza   meant   nothing   to   her   the   way   she   made   it   seem.   she   didn’t   feel   the   need   to   turn   her   nose   up   at   another   rumor   floating   around   unless   someone   was   there   to   watch   it   unfold.   she   was   someone   who   was   proud,   someone   who   was   stubborn   and   couldn’t   admit   defeat   because   she   believed   she   was   always   right.   no   matter   how   she   felt   about   vincenza   deep   inside,   she   would   never   let   the   other   see   a   fraction   of   what   went   through   her   head   when   they   were   together. 

when   vincenza   leaned   forward,   daisy   barely   flinched   from   the   sudden   closeness.   her   gaze   stayed   locked   on   the   other,   not   taking   a   step   back   (   or   forward   )   while   the   two   continued   to   play   their   game   of   cat   and   mouse.   in   their   case,   both   are   always   the   cat   and   both   are   always   the   mouse   at   the   same   time.   “that’s   really   a   shame   that   your   dad   didn’t   love   you.   if   you   need   that   validation   that   you   love   so   much…”   daisy   broke   eye   contact   briefly   to   look   behind   vincenza,   signaling   with   her   hand   toward   the   party   still   going   on   despite   the   world   feeling   as   if   it   stopped   to   surround   them.   “be   my   guest   and   find   the   man   of   the   night   for   you.   i’ll   even   keep   it   between   us   so   the   mystery   man   can   feel   so   honored   to   be   your   choice   of   the   night.”   her   voice   was   sickeningly   sweet,   sounding   airy   and   fake   even   to   her   own   ears.   a   smile   plastered   across   her   face,   hoping   that   vincenza   took   the   bait   to   leave,   but   also   hoping   the   other   took   the   bait   to   stay   and   play   some   more.

again,   vincenza   left   her   speechless.   there   had   been   moments   when   daisy   couldn’t   sleep   at   night,   had   a   confrontation   with   the   other   only   hours   before   it   was   time   to   rest   her   head.   she   would   be   lost   in   a   fantasy,   mind   clouded   with   thoughts   she   would   feel   too   shameless   to   say   to   anyone.   she   wondered   what   vincenza’s   fingers   would   feel   like   climbing   up   her   spine,   laid   bare   in   front   of   the   other   as   her   fingers   curled   around   the   back   of   daisy’s   neck.   to   use   the   other   hand   to   take   control,   showing   daisy   exactly   who   was   at   the   height   of   their   back   and   forth   each   time   —   to   breaking   out   of   her   thoughts   as   quickly   as   it   started   when   she   realized   the   nonsense   she   was   losing   her   mind   over.   

“miss   missionary   only?   you   have   to   get   more   material   if   you’re   going   to   want   to   hurt   me.”   her   arms   cross   over   her   chest   stubbornly,   eyes   narrowing   at   the   other.   “just   because   you   practice   your   talent   everyday   doesn’t   mean   other   people   can’t   have   fun   too.”   she   flicked   her   hair   over   her   shoulder,   chin   jutting   out,   only   to   eye   vincenza   suspiciously   when   the   other   is   confessing   to   being   obsessed   with   daisy   —   a   lie   that   she   can   see   from   a   mile   away,   but   it   doesn’t   make   her   side   eye   her   classmate   any   less.   “i   understand   you’re   playing   bouncer   for   one   of   the   guys   in   exchange   for   getting   them   to   validate   you   tonight,   but   i   can   easily   find   another   way   without   having   to   lie   my   way   with   a   compliment.”   daisy   rolled   her   eyes,   looking   away   from   vincenza   to   study   the   mess   of   people   out   in   front   of   the   house,   party   goers   who   are   still   arriving,   and   others   who   are   disappearing   around   the   house   where   daisy   should   be.   instead,   she   stands   in   front   of   vincenza   like   she   always   does.

[prettyyou]

⸻      𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲   𝐭𝐨   :         𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒊𝒂.

she  smiles  briefly,  but  it  is  gone  as  quick  as  it  arrives.  he’s  a  better  man  than  she  cares  to  be  around,  a  kind  that  mies  would  never  deserve  even  if  she  redeemed  herself  a  thousand  times  before  god  himself.  yarro’s  games  left  him  a  victor  to  be  desired,  mies’  left  her  a  victor  to  be  admired  but  he  fought  because  his  brother  was  killed  —  she  had  fought  because  she  was  the  kind  of  person  that  killed  his  brother;  bloodthirsty  and  eager  to  taste  violence  on  her  tongue.  there  are  nights  when  they’re  alone  together  in  the  same  room,  put  up  by  the  capitol  (  and  their  teams  )  and  still  sleeping  separately,  that  mies  assumes  that  he  might  despise  her.  perhaps  he  hates  who  she  was  in  the  game  and  who  she’s  become  after  it;  perhaps  he  hates  that  they’ve  been  paired  together  the  moment  the  star-crossed  lovers  threatened  the  capitol  with  a  handful  of  nightlock  berries;  perhaps  he  just  hates  her  the  way  she  hates  herself.

but  to  assume  that  yarro  is  the  kind  of  person  who  can  carry  that  hatred  around  with  him  is  to  assume  wrongly.  it  doesn’t  matter  how  many  times  she  has  pushed  him  away  with  vitriolic  words  and  displays  of  indifference,  yarro  hasn’t  left  her.  she  could  chalk  it  up  to  him  being  dutiful  and  listening  to  the  people  who  plan  a  revolution  beneath  the  noses  of  the  capitol,  or  she  could  admit  that  yarro  is  the  kind  of  person  that  would  fall  on  his  own  sword  for  her  even  if  she  would  not  do  the  same  for  him.

her  lips  purse  at  him  and  her  throat  grows  tight.  she  can’t  form  a  sentence  coherent  enough  to  respond  to  him;  maybe,  yes  i  would  love  if  you  would  scold  me  some  more  if  only  for  a  sense  of  normalcy;  or  perhaps,  i  might  let  them  kill  me  if  it  means  the  kids  make  it  out  of  there  alive;  or  even,  maybe  it’s  best  if  we  end  it  here  —  for  real,  because  this  was  never  real,  anyway.  instead  she  takes  another  drag  from  her  cigarette  and  looks  out  at  the  capitol  from  the  tribute  center,  blinking  hard  at  the  reality  before  them.  in  the  morning,  they’ll  be  back  in  the  arena,  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  capitol  one  more  time.  win  the  games  and  you  win  freedom,  it  once  was.  now  all  the  victors  know  the  truth  is  more  win  the  games  and  never  forget  you  are  still  at  the  mercy  of  the  capitol.  her  insides  are  eating  themselves  from  inside  out,  nausea  filling  her  belly  at  the  thought  of  taking  another  spear  into  her  hand  and  aiming  it  at  someone  who  doesn’t  want  to  be  here,  either.  she  might  not  have  to,  if  she  gains  the  courage  to  miss  but  if  she  misses,  her  (  fake  )  alliance  could  turn  their  backs  on  her.

“  d’you  ever  think  about  what  you’d  do  if  we  didn’t  have  the  games?  ”  she  asks,  leaning  forward,  all-but  ignoring  his  words.  “  my  family’s  worked  in  the  quarries  for  generations,  so  i  assume  that  without  the  training  and  without  the  games,  i  would  have  ended  up  there,  too.  ”  she  pauses  until  she’s  blinked  the  tears  away.  “  i  don’t  know,  do  you  think  we  would  have  ever  met  without  the  games?  ”  mies  squares  her  jaw  and  bites  on  her  tongue  before  asking,  “  would  you  have  wanted  to  meet  me?”

yarro   got   in   his   own   head   sometimes.   he   did   his   best   to   snap   out   of   it   whenever   his   mind   was   consumed   by   a   dark   cloud   or   when   the   million   and   one   thoughts   swarming   his   mind   were   hope.   yarro   didn’t   want   to   lose   his   hope.   a   part   of   him   was   worried   that   if   he   let   the   negative   thoughts   take   over,   he   wouldn’t   be   able   to   persevere   the   chaos   of   bringing   the   games   to   an   end.   at   times,   it   felt   foolish   continue   under   false   assumption   that   if   they   try   hard   enough,   if   they   fight   tough   and   strong,   everything   will   fall   into   place   in   the   end.   he   his   year   of   the   hunger   games,   but   it   didn’t   feel   like   much   of   a   win.   he   lived   to   see   another   day   while   watching   his   opponents   die   won   by   won   until   he   was   the   last   person   surviving.   it   came   him   up   at   night,   the   gore   and   violence   of   it.   the   way   he   knew   people   were   cheering   and   watching   intently   back   home   like   it   was   a   sport   and   not   innocent   lives   being   stolen   from   them.   he   and   mies   came   up   with   a   thought   out   plan,   he   looked   at   her   with   a   smile   beaming   his   face   and   radiating   all   the   positive   energy   that   it   would   work.   yarro   won’t   mention   how   he   tossed   and   turned   with   the   idea   in   his   head   since   the   two   became   a   pair.

she   was   the   only   person   who   understood   him,   though.   most   people   couldn’t,   unless   they   lived   to   tell   their   experience   within   the   hunger   games.   while   he   mingled   around   from   time   to   time,   coming   as   friendly   and   inviting,   he   still   kept   his   distance   from   everyone.   it   was   harder   to   do   with   mies.   there   was   no   expectation   from   her   so   it   was   easy   to   become   attached   in   someway.   it   was   easy   to   voice   his   thoughts   of   doubts   or   believe   that   with   a   strong   partner   by   his   side,   things   will   actually   be   okay   in   the   end.   he   didn’t   come   up   with   this   false   narrative   in   his   head   that   regardless   of   the   way   things   would   go,   the   two   would   actually   be   friends   in   the   end.   they   worked   well   together,   but   yarro   knew   that   in   mies’   eyes,   they   were   simply   coworkers.   yarro   was   okay   with   that.

“i   think   about   life   without   the   games   a   lot,”   yarro   admitted   easily.   he   only   spared   mies   a   quick   glance,   finding   the   opportunity   to   speak   his   mind   before   the   two   went   their   own   ways.   there   was   no   telling   what   would   happen   next   for   them,   if   they’d   even   see   each   other   again.   “i   think   all   the   districts   would   be   one   whole.   maybe   your   parents   were   working   in   the   quarries,   but   if   everyone   was   put   together   as   one   district,   you   and   your   parents   would   get   a   lot   more   opportunities   to   do   what   you   want.   maybe   even   be   what   you   want.”   yarro   shrugged.   “my   dad   and   my   uncles   fished.   i   watched   them   when   i   was   younger,   but   i   was   only   able   to   do   it   for   a   year   before   my   name   was   called.   i   don’t   think   it   was   ever   for   me.”  

the   next   question   mies   asked   has   yarro   taken   back   a   bit,   though   he   does   his   best   to   conceal   the   look   of   surprise   on   his   face.   “i   think   every   person   that   i’ve   met,   i’m   destined   to   meet   them   in   some   way   no   matter   the   timeline.”   he   paused   briefly,   thinking   over   his   words   almost   too   carefully.   there   was   never   a   time   he   wasn’t   honest   with   mies.   there   wasn’t   a   time   where   he   sugarcoated   something   or   worried   himself   about   what   she   would   think   after   whatever   he   said.   it   was   a   little   different   now.   he   knew   that   she   put   up   with   him   because   she   had   to.   if   they   were   to   meet   in   another   timeline,   the   encounter   wouldn’t   last   long.   “i   would   have   wanted   to   meet   you.   i   liked   the   time   we   spent   together.   wouldn’t   want   anyone   else   to   be   my   partner   and   crime,   you   know?   what   about   you?”